


In the time of void

by laughingpineapple



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: M/M, Mid-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 09:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7635436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/pseuds/laughingpineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end of the Palmer case carved and chiselled pain on Cooper's face, but in that emptiness, he was finally allowed to breathe. He was alive with an intensity that Albert had not seen since Pittsburgh and he couldn’t blame the town for that. But he wouldn't praise it either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the time of void

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jiokra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/gifts).



"You think you're hot stuff with your hardened film noir schtick you're putting on, but you wanna know a secret, mister, aviators would look good on a goat. That's right, a goat. This boorish behavior will not be tolerated in my hotel and you could get in trouble at work too, marring like that the courteous and charming image of the FBI. A real Special Agent would-"

  
"Do forgive me, I must have forgotten my standard issue white horse and gleaming shield at home, this FBI badge is all I got," comes the other familiar voice from behind the door. "But it's enough to burst your bubble, isn't it, post hoc  _ and _ propter hoc. Boy what would I give not to have an inkling of the sort of irresponsible imbecile who planted this nonsense into that little coiffeured head of yours."

  
Their banter is barely audible over the colorful slice of life passing through the White Tail hall at the Great Northern that morning, which non-comprehensively includes a flamenco dancer, an Argentinian book club meeting, no less than six gnauling children and the distressed organisers of a conference on the energising properties of maple-flavored chunky peanut butter, but Dale Cooper would not miss either of those two for the world - he stands by the door and grins, thanking his luck. 

  
"Go home and have a good heart to heart with your white horse, then. They're intelligent creatures, horses, they know when someone deserves to be kicked. I know because a pony broke daddy's leg, twice. Let me know how that goes."

  
Dale was in fact, hoping that Albert would pick just about anyone and complain their ears off, as he is wont to do, or, perish the thought, he would have already left town before Dale could make it back to the hotel to say goodbye. Isn't it wonderful, Diane, how often nature simply takes its course: here he comes, storming off on cue.

  
"Coop, speak of the devil. Stop being a bad influence on children, or at least get into the Hollywood biz and charm their socks off from afar, that's what movie stars are for. Us, we're in a different line of work if you hadn't noticed."

  
"Albert!" 

  
His enthusiasm is met with a cracking frown, a glimpse that what works on high schoolers today worked just as well on young pathologists a dozen years ago, when they first met and Albert barked and barked at him before giving in and raising his white flag. Dale knows. He isn't blind to the human heart, and his oldest friend is too honest to care for concealing his feelings, anyway. They find their boundaries and make do. All his loves are ashes, and Dale's life ebbs and flows unmoored, and Albert is still there like a bright, reliable constant.

  
"How wonderful! I was hoping you would have managed to pick a fight or I wouldn't have arrived in time", he says, his candid confession dripping through the smile that Albert's presence invariably gets out of him. "Though I would not condone picking on the vulnerable youth."

  
"Give her a few years and I'll give you vulnerable."

  
"Isn't she incredible, Albert? I wish I had her bearing at her age!"

  
"Incredible is one word for it." Albert crosses his arms. "But that was no accident, I was waiting for you. Picking fights is how I kill time, all these years and don't tell me you never noticed, you may be hurting my feelings here."

  
"Thank you, Albert. I am honored."

  
"Don't be ridiculous, honor has nothing to do with it. That dream of yours from last month, it caught up and came true, didn't it? She cried for help, she was murdered, I helped you, and that ties it all up with a neat little bow. I'm packing up and so are you, but not necessarily for the same destination. A goodbye was in order."

  
He remembered! And managed to turn it into a complaint, because that's who he is, crabby and territorial, and it's hard to guess if the burden that is wearing him down now is the death of a teenager at the hands of her father or anything Audrey might have let slip about her nightly escapades. Dale would like to part with a smile, because while they witnessed an evil, they also dispelled it, or cast it aside, and there is something inside Dale that is singing to the beat of this victory, can't Albert feel this newfound freedom? So he takes him by the arm and drags him along, out of the hotel and into his car, because they need a walk to lift their spirits and deserve a moment that is not cluttered and complicated by anyone else, certainly not by a flight that won't leave until late afternoon. Oh, if only he could dance.

 

-

 

“...the local bakery.  _ Coop _ .”

 

The Wagon Wheel Donuts insignia looms over them, a flash of yellow brightening up the silent street. It is as if the whole town felt Leland Palmer's death and mourned in the safety of their own homes.

 

“I did promise the lifting of spirits! And there is no better sight in town than this display of donuts - with the possible exception of Lucy's handiwork on a good day. But then again, that is because she raids this place.”

 

“I do not desire to be made aware of the runner-ups for top scenic views.”

 

“Albert, you are being too strict.”

 

“I look around and all I see is a barren hole in the middle of a godforsaken county like sixteen others I've seen this year already. Burden of proof’s all yours, Coop, catch.”

 

He shoots him a sad look under heavy, tired eyelids. Closing himself off to the many forms of beauty is a form of self-defense and a transparent one at that, and Coop wishes he could make him drop that act. But he knows he is in no position to lecture him when he has been doing the same with romance. It is a pity that life led them down these ways.

 

“I wish I had the time to show you and change your mind.”

 

“And I'm glad we don't. But it will be my pleasure to show you around the new French bakery I found in Philly, as soon as you're back to civilisation. What is it with you and this place? I don't trust you with these hillbillies, don't forget that your shooter's still at large.”

 

Dale gingerly touches his bandages. The stitches are healing, fast, slower than he would care to admit, and no one ever mentions them, not even Dale himself, thoughts of gunpowder drowned by the scent of the Douglas firs and of the ponderosa pines. But Albert remembers. Albert cares and Albert remembers and Albert allows him to see his caring soul under the prickly surface.

 

“I thought you'd come to appreciate Harry.”

 

“You know how it is with dogs - easy to get attached to. Even then, he's one labrador out of a few odd thousands jerks and jackasses. Math isn't on your side, Coop you'll need to do better.”

 

“My best answer remains the one I offered you last week.” And the music in the rings of the trees, a quivering under the branches, but Dale doesn't have words for this, not yet, and he won't until he will see the path through the woods and it will be too late.

 

“Then you are a self-absorbed fool because that's all you. What was it that you said last week?  _ Decency, honor, dignity _ ? Do you listen to yourself when you open that mouth of yours or does the soft smooth sound of your voice drown out those little units of meaning we like to call words. Life has meaning here? For whom, Ben Horne? Renault, Johnson, Jacoby? A waiter who doesn't even remember seeing you bleed out on the goddamn floor, Coop?” Dale can see that there are other names on his lips, like a prayer to open his eyes - the man careless enough to shoot his wife's eye out, the deputy who heard gunshots over the phone and shrugged, kids lost to cocaine. “Decency, honor, dignity my ass, Coop. It's all you: the care, the principles, the overwhelming goodness, you might as well have gone full-on Narcissus and fallen in love with a mirror! You're the good man here, the best man I have ever met. Do not lose track of that.”

 

Albert remembers and Albert cares and Albert's hands are balled into fists and Dale suddenly, intensely wishes he could kiss them, if only as payment for that confession. He used to kiss people for a lot less back then, before Caroline. It made them happy and it made him feel good, for the short time before any connection he made ended in ashes over and over again. Then she burned him too. Maybe it can come back, this free flow of love. He is tired of keeping his fingers crossed, breathing shallow breaths and hoping that his life won't burst into flames again. 

 

Kissing Albert. His friend - his wonderful friend, who cares for him, who will stand up for him, who came back for him, who wears his love on his sleeve. Today, in the shadow of the woods and of an empty victory, the thought is inebriating. He takes the plunge. Their noses brush together as he silently asks for permission and he finds that Albert's warm brown eyes are beautiful from up close; he wants to trace their lines with a finger, to caress the frown on his forehead, to brush against his bristle hair and rest his hand on his neck. When he does, Albert's pleased grunt can be drunk from his full lips. It is a good kiss, a solid kiss. He slides into Albert's arms, nesting in the protection his partner offers. It feels natural. Albert seems to agree, shutting up (an achievement in and by itself, as Dale hazily realises with a note of satisfaction) and caring for nothing but reaching for Dale's mouth. He holds him like a wounded bird at first, wonderful and frail, then clings to every inch of contact between their bodies.

 

Reality catches up with them as they pause for breath entangled in each other's embrace, fingers dug into fabric to get a fuller sense of the reality of their bodies. Albert blinks. An unsaid question weighs on him: what is this, and please, please let it not be a joke. Coop shakes his head. He cannot say what this is but it is not a joke. He would never! Tremendously important, like the imperfections of Albert's skin he is committing to memory, or the smell of his cologne, which is safe, like a home. 

“In this case, I'm not complaining.”

“Then today we have learned that there truly is a first time for everything.”

Albert ponders this revelation and kisses him back with the enthusiasm of a young boy, teeth clashing against teeth, grabbing his ankles and guiding him against the wall of the deserted alley.

 

Dale appreciates the firmness of the wall and the shifting weight of Albert pressing him against it, and the first wet kiss trailing down to his neck with reverential worship. He is safe here, held and protected against all harm by hands that know every bone and muscle of his body and will never take advantage of it. He makes a note of all this because if he knows Albert - and if he knows anything at all, at least today, he knows Albert Rosenfield - it won't be long before this is too much at once for him to process.

 

When it happens, and he can feel him shut down and freeze in his arms, there is still a gentleness to Albert's motions that Dale was not expecting and fills with heart with a renewed burst of affection.

 

“I need to go.”

 

“In what may seem like a selfish remark, and it probably is, like many other occurrences in life which both look and quack like the proverbial duck, this would be an appropriate moment to confide that I find your four-hours airport rule to be needlessly strict. The plane won't leave.”

 

They find themselves still holding onto each other's hand. But Albert's is shaking, aching to reach for the protection of his shades and cover the guilt that's creeping on his face. Dale gives it one more little kiss of encouragement.

 

“Coop, I  _ need _ to go.” 

 

“Then I will not hold you.”

  
Too much, too soon. Besides, it would be disastrous if they were seen in public and they both know it. They will talk tonight, when Albert arrives in Seattle, and Coop will still not be able to tell him what possessed him to break their balance, but he will be positive that  he is still not regretting it. Maybe he will have made up his mind by the time they meet again in person, maybe they will figure it all out together. They will make it work. As soon as he comes back.

**Author's Note:**

> I like Audrey a lot, I hope this didn't come across as mean to her, in my intentions she's holding out pretty well considering she locked horns with Albert Rosenfield of all people. I want to write a fic just about the two of them bickering. And I hope you like this, dear recipient! I started from your cute prompts and went where Coop led me (I.e., to donuts, unsurprisingly...)


End file.
